


Through Yonder Window

by Naughty_Yorick



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Confessions, Humour, Jaskier is an idiot, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Rescues, Tender - Freeform, Writer's Block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26256625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naughty_Yorick/pseuds/Naughty_Yorick
Summary: Valdo rose with a sigh and grabbed the empty cup, intending to refill it, when Jaskier, completely naked and utterly filthy, tumbled in through the window.Valdo has returned to Oxenfurt for the bardic competition - and he's not the only one. Being slowly driven mad by his feelings for Jaskier and his unbreakable writer's block, he's ready to give up... until the object of his affection bursts through the window, looking for a place to hide. Valdo agrees to help, and Jaskier provides a rather effective solution for both of his problems.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx
Comments: 9
Kudos: 105





	Through Yonder Window

The parchment, curled at the edges, remained infuriatingly blank. Valdo tapped his quill impatiently on the already-stained surface of the wooden table, uncaring for the inevitable damage he was doing to the tip. He had a dozen more just like it stashed in the desk drawer. Rather less than that, truthfully, if he didn't count the one he’d snapped in a fury and tossed on the floor, or the one he’d chewed on till it splintered. 

He needed to _write_. He’d told himself, again and again, that as soon as he returned to Oxenfurt he’d find inspiration. That he’d find himself in the familiar streets and new songs would pour from him like water from a font. 

And yet… nothing. 

The competition was less than a week away. He’d promised the university that he’d attend some of the lectures, even _give_ a few to their newer classes, aware that he needed the extra coin. There were dozens of friends and colleagues to reacquaint himself with, parties seemingly every night. Between academia, mingling, and working, he’d barely had any time to put ink to paper. 

There were a dozen or so songs he’d written in the year since the last competition, but it was widely accepted that using one of them was as good as cheating. No: the song had to be new, written exclusively for this year's performance. 

Valdo wanted to win, of course, but right now he was more focused on getting the bloody words on the paper. There wouldn’t even _be_ a competition for him if he couldn’t come up with a single song. 

And, well, if he didn’t enter, the winner seemed near-inevitable. 

He wasn’t the only alumni who had returned to the academy for the competition, after all. 

He’d met Jaskier on his first day back in the city, finding him sequestered in a corner of the pub surrounded by students. Jaskier had been back for a week already, recently returned from travelling. He was always travelling, now, full of stories about _his witcher_. 

Valdo had to admit, he was a little jealous. He was jealous of all the staggering adventures Jaskier had wheedled his way into, of course: nothing else. He certainly wasn’t jealous of the sheer volume of songs Jaskier had penned about the witcher, or the way _every_ conversation seemed to find itself derailed by _‘when I was travelling with Geralt…’_ , or the way Jaskier’s eyes lit up every time he mentioned him. 

With an undignified groan, he threw the ruined quill out the window. 

There was a clattering from outside, which he was content to ignore - being a floor up allowed him a certain level of security that those on the bottom floor didn’t get to enjoy. The quill had probably gotten stuck in the trellis. 

Valdo rose with a sigh and grabbed the empty cup next to his hand, intending to refill it, when Jaskier, completely naked and utterly filthy, tumbled in through the window. 

The cup dropped to the floor with a crash. 

“Jaskier? What are—” 

“Hide me!” 

Jaskier tugged his ankle through the window and collapsed to the floor. Valdo rushed over and peered outside just in time to see a very large, very _angry_ looking man staring back up at him. The man began to shout something, and Valdo grabbed the shutters and slammed them shut without even thinking. 

He rounded on Jaskier, who was sprawled on the floor next to his bed. He tried very hard to look at his face, and nowhere else. 

“What the _fuck_ are you doing, Jaskier?” 

“Nothing!” 

“It doesn’t look like _nothing_ ,” Valdo hissed, aware that the man outside was still yelling. “Who did you fuck? His daughter?” 

Jaskier had the decency to look outraged. “No!” He gasped, struggling to his feet with surprising dignity for a man so naked. “It was his son.” 

Valdo groaned, pressing his hands to his eyes. 

“...and his son’s wife,” Jaskier continued. 

“For fuck’s _sake_ , Jaskier, really?” 

“What? I’ll have you know we were having a lovely time until—” 

Valdo held up a warning hand. “Please, Jaskier, I don’t want to hear about your little… escapades.” 

“Honestly,” Jaskier said, pacing up and down, “it’s ridiculous. It shouldn’t matter what his son gets up to in his own home, _really_.” 

“Look,” said Valdo, calmly, “I agree, I really do. But… this?” He gestured to Jaskier’s naked body, and then to the window, “this is _insane!”_

Jaskier shrugged, pouting a little. 

“You really need to get ou—” 

There was a slam from downstairs, followed by a lot of shouting. 

“Shiiit…” whispered Jaskier, chewing on his lip. 

“Maybe you can go the way you came…” 

Valdo turned back to the window and pushed open the shutters a crack, peering outside. Where the man had been standing before were now two others - equally burly. One appeared to be holding a dagger. 

“For fuck’s sake," he said, quietly shutting the shutters once more, “it’s like a fucking _siege_ out there.” 

“It’s not my fault!” 

Valdo wanted to argue that point, but he knew it would be useless. “Well, then.” He looked around the room hopelessly. “Looks like you’re stuck here.” 

Jaskier grimaced. “Sorry. Did I… ah… disturb you?” He glanced at the mess on Valdo’s desk, the reams of torn and scrunched up parchment. 

“No, no,” Valdo sighed, leaning down to grab the cup at his feet, “Nothing. Composing, you know how it is.” 

Jaskier smiled. “I do.” 

“Although inspiration seems to come to you in spades, it seems.” 

Jaskier gave a little half-committal shrug. Usually, he’d be smug about such things. Perhaps he could tell from the piles of discarded poetry that Valdo was struggling. Perhaps this was pity. 

Valdo wasn’t sure he wanted Jaskier’s pity. Of all Jaskier’s attentions that he might crave, his pity was last on the list. 

He sighed. “I suppose we should get you dressed,” he said, trying and failing not to glance at Jaskier’s naked form. 

Jaskier blinked. “Oh! Right, yes…” It was like he hadn’t even realised he was naked. Again - that seemed typical. Jaskier didn’t seem the type for such unnecessary emotions as _shame_. 

Valdo tore his eyes away from Jaskier and walked over to the chest of drawers against the side of the other wall. It was stuffed full - something in there was sure to fit him. He was taller and broader than Valdo, and the years of travelling by foot had given him muscle where Valdo was - well, not scrawny, but _wiry_. Jaskier still carried himself like he was that skinny little thing that left Oxenfurt all those years ago, but adventure suited him, bulking him out. 

It was something Valdo had noted but kept to himself, aware that mentioning it to any of their mutual friends would only result in gossip and rumours that he was keen to avoid. But now Jaskier was standing in his room, wearing only a smile, it was undeniable. 

He busied himself in the drawers, looking for something, _anything_ , to cover Jaskier up. He was searching through his trousers and breeches, when there was a sudden noise. 

Footsteps, and then a furious banging on a door a little way down the corridor. He froze. 

“Was that…?” 

“D’you think they’re searching every room?” Said Jaskier, paling. 

“Sounds like it… _shit_.” 

“Valdo, please, I know we’ve not always gotten on, but you have to hide me…” 

_Not always gotten on?_ Was that how Jaskier saw it? Valdo sighed. 

“Okay,” he said, “ _Okay_. But you owe me, Pankratz.” 

Jaskier nodded enthusiastically, then pushed past Valdo towards his wardrobe. 

“What are you doing now?” Valdo said, in a loud whisper. 

“Hiding?” Said Jaskier, “...obviously?” 

“Don’t hide in the fucking wardrobe, Jaskier!” 

“...Why not?” 

“Because if he bursts in here that’s the first place he’s going to look, isn’t it? And there’s _nothing_ more suspicious than a filthy, naked man hiding in a wardrobe!” 

“So where do _you_ propose, Valdo?” 

_Shit_. Valdo couldn’t believe what he was about to suggest. 

“Get in the bed.” 

“What?” 

Valdo began to struggle out of his tunic. “Get in the fucking…” it caught on his head, and he tugged it off, furiously, “...in the fucking bed, Jaskier!” 

He threw the tunic to the floor. Jaskier watched him kick off his shoes. He was _blushing_. 

“Valdo…” 

The banging grew louder. The man looking for Jaskier had reached the room along from Valdo’s. 

“Bed! Now!” 

Jaskier didn’t need telling again. He dove under the covers. Valdo was about to follow suit, when he had a sudden thought. He dashed over to the door and quietly slid back the latch as gently as he could. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Hissed Jaskier, as Valdo scrambled into the bed beside him, pulling the covers over them both. 

“Saving your skin,” he retorted. “Play along, alright?” 

“But…” 

_BANG BANG BANG._ There was someone hammering on the door. Valdo ran his hands through his hair, messying his already tangled curls. He glanced across at Jaskier, who was watching him intently. 

_Wait_ … Valdo mouthed at him. Jaskier nodded. 

There was another series of bangs, and then a shout. “Hey! Open up!” 

Jaskier looked downright panicked. Valdo took a deep breath. 

“We’re a bit busy!” He shouted back, trying to sound confident. 

There was a long silence. After a few moments, Valdo began to relax, assuming the man had simply moved on. 

And then the door burst open. 

Barely even thinking, Valdo threw himself on top of Jaskier. 

“I said open u—” The man saw them, and fell silent. “I—” 

Making sure the covers hid Jaskier’s face, Valdo spun around. His face was flushed too, now. 

“And I said we’re a bit busy!” He yelled back, “So would you kindly fuck off?” 

The man gave him a horrified glance before garbling out a stuttering apology and running back out, slamming the door behind him. Valdo relaxed, letting out a long breath, letting himself sag back down. 

Right into Jaskier’s chest. 

Shit. 

He looked up. Jaskier was watching him, his face pink from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears. His eyes were wide and dark. 

“Sorry,” said Valdo, quickly, “I didn’t know what else to—” 

The rest of that sentence was stifled under Jaskier’s lips. Valdo froze, and Jaskier quickly backed away, leaving Valdo’s lips hot and tingling. 

“Sorry,” Jaskier muttered, quickly, “I just… shit, Valdo, sorry, I...” 

“No,” said Valdo, “I… _fuck_ , Jaskier…” 

It was his turn, now, and he bent back down, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s. Jaskier kissed him back with enthusiasm, opening his mouth beneath him, and Valdo was suddenly dazzlingly aware of just _why_ he was so popular. 

Trapped beneath the covers, all he could think was how Jaskier’s lips felt against his own, how his skin was soft and smooth beneath his hands. Gods, all those years of denial were falling away beneath the bold ministrations of Jaskier’s tongue against his mouth. 

Valdo’s hand rested lightly on Jaskier’s chest, feeling the surprisingly soft hair beneath his fingers. He was moving upwards, running his hand across Jaskier’s collarbone and across to his shoulder, when he felt something beneath his fingers. Jaskier's smooth skin was marred with a little ridge - shiny, raised - a poorly healed scar. The area didn't appear to be painful at all, but Valdo froze anyway, his fingertips brushing against the old wound. It wasn't just Jaskier's new physique that betrayed the realities of his new lifestyle. Valdo wondered how he'd acquired such a wound - if he'd been attacked by man or beast. 

And then he was struck with a sudden thought. The witcher. He had a horrible image of Jaskier's famous white wolf standing under his window, looking for the person who'd dared to touch his bard. 

"Valdo?" Jaskier had noticed something was wrong. "What is it?" 

"What about _him_?" 

"Him who?" Said Jaskier. "D'you mean _Felix?"_

"No, it's… your witcher, Jaskier. Won't he be… cross?" It was an inadequate word to describe the fury of a cuckolded superhuman, he knew, but it would have to do. 

Jaskier went still, looking away. "He's not _my_ witcher." 

_Shit_. "Oh. I just… I thought…" 

"So does everyone." 

"Fuck, Jaskier. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." 

Jaskier shrugged. "It's fine, really." 

"I just had this horrible thought of him, I don't know, coming to castrate me for daring to put my hands on you…" 

"Hah!" Jaskier laughed at that, and Valdo could feel his body relax, some of the tension slipping away. "I suppose that would be rather terrifying." 

"Mmhmm," agreed Valdo, "and I'm very happy keeping my balls where they are, thank you. I'm very attached." 

"Is that so?" Jaskier crooned, letting his eyes drift down Valdo's body. 

"That _is_ so, yes." 

Jaskier edged even closer, snaking a lazy hand over Valdo's shoulder and tangling his hand in his curly hair. 

"Geralt has no reason to disapprove of you putting your hands _anywhere_ on my body." Jaskier's other hand made its way to Valdo's chest, hovering around his collarbone. "Although it doesn't appear that he has a reason to worry either, considering that at this very moment I am lying stark bollock naked in your bed and you haven't even _tried_ to ravish me." 

Valdo stared down at Jaskier, still trapped beneath him. He raised his eyebrows. 

“Have I not?” 

“A little light snogging barely counts as _ravishing_.” 

“Oh, well in _that_ case…” 

Valdo crushed their lips together once more, moving with urgency, pressing Jaskier into the pillow. Still straddling him, Valdo arched back, running his hands down Jaskier's arms then pulling his hands up above his head, pinning him down. Jaskier groaned into the kiss, sending shivers down Valdo's spine. He twined their fingers together, squeezing, and suddenly Jaskier's little sounds of pleasure morphed into a squeal of pain. 

Valdo leapt back instinctively, the cover falling away. Even in the dull light, he could see the marks on Jaskier's hands. 

"Shit, Jaskier," he said, grabbing one of his wrists and pulling it closer, "You're bleeding." 

Jaskier sat up, sliding out from beneath Valdo, extracting his hand from Valdo's grip. He examined his palms, wincing. 

"Where I climbed up…" 

Valdo considered this. Then it struck him. "Jaskier, did you climb up the rose trellis?" 

Jaskier had the grace to look sheepish. "....yeah." 

He sighed. “At least you’re consistent…” Valdo deftly mavourved himself off of Jaskier’s thighs, clambering from the bed and heading towards the jug of water in the corner of the room. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Called Jaskier, voice full of faux indignation. 

“It means,” said Valdo, filling the cup and grabbing a handkerchief from the drawer of his desk, “that of _all_ the people to injure themselves climbing up a fucking rose trellis to escape an angry father… well, of course it was you.” 

He sat back down on the bed and held out his hand. Jaskier rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, you’re boring,” he moaned, “I was having such fun before…” 

“And you’ll be having no fun at all if this gets infected,” Valdo said, nodding at his hands that were littered with tiny cuts and scrapes. 

“They won’t get infected,” Jaskier huffed. 

“You really want to take that chance five days before the competition?” 

Jaskier trapped his bottom lip beneath his teeth. “Fine,” he said. “Although I can’t believe that _you’re_ the one telling me that.” 

Valdo dipped the handkerchief in the water and began to dab at his palms where the thorns had pulled at Jaskier’s skin. 

“And why not?” 

“Because I’m your biggest competition,” Jaskier said, smugly. 

“That may be the case,” Valdo said, “but winning wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t beat you fairly. Winning to a man whose hands don’t work properly just doesn’t have the same thrill to it, you know?” 

“You’ll regret saying that once I beat you, Valdo.” Said Jaskier, “‘Oh,’ you’ll say, ‘why was I so kind to Jaskier? Why did I so tenderly treat his wounds? I should have let his hands fall off....’” He grinned, cheekily. “It’s fine,” he added, “I’ll buy you a new handkerchief with my winnings, seeing as this one has my blood all over it.” 

“You’ll buy me a new handkerchief with your _own_ money, Jaskier, after _I_ win the award.” 

“Bold words from a man holding the hands of his biggest rival. Unless you intend to break my fingers?” He winked. 

“You’ve got enough people after you who want to break _various_ parts, Jaskier, you don’t need a rival to incapacitate you.” 

Jaskier edged forwards as Valdo moved onto the other hand. “You know,” he said, peering up at Valdo from behind his lashes, “there’s other ways to incapacitate someone…” 

Jaskier titled his head, leaning in until they were just inches apart, his eyes sliding shut. He licked his lips and his tongue came dangerously close to Valdo's mouth. 

“Honestly, Jaskier,” Valdo whispered, his hand still, focusing instead on the feeling of Jaskier’s breath against his lips. “Clambering in through a window, using a rose trellis as a ladder? Getting all cut up on thorns? It’s so fucking…” he paused, their lips lightly brushing. 

“It’s so fucking what?” Muttered Jaskier, his eyes fluttering open. 

“ _Shit_.” 

Jaskier backed away. “Excuse me?” 

“No - I just-” he chucked the damp handkerchief at Jaskier and dashed over to his desk, pushing aside ruined bits of paper and pulling a fresh quill from the drawer. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Nothing, I just need to…” He dipped the quill in his ink pot, then spun around. “Clean that other hand, will you?” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes, but did as Valdo had asked, watching him with raised eyebrows as Valdo furiously scribbled. 

_Escaping a lover… no, searching for a lover. Climbing through roses - red roses, full bloom - hands torn apart by thorns, blood and rose petals..._

"Valdo?" 

"It's _perfect_ , Jaskier, it’s…" he paused. "Shit, no. It's _yours_. Fuck." 

He rubbed his hand against his temple, sighing. 

"What's mine?" 

"The fucking… the story, Jaskier! With the roses…" 

"You're writing this down?" 

"I _was_." 

Jaskier regarded him for a moment, fiddling with the handkerchief. 

"Have it," he said, finally. 

"What?" 

"Have the story. For your song." 

"Really? But, Jaskier—" 

"Seriously. You saved me from Felix’s father. Take it." 

Valdo twisted the quill between his fingers, “Thank you.” 

“Psh,” Jaskier dismissed him easily. “Like you said, it’s healthy competition.” He smirked. “I’ll still win, of course.” 

Valdo threw a middle finger up at him, then went back to scribbling. The ink was staining his fingers as he struggled to get the ideas out, the quill rushing across the page. 

“So…” Jaskier drawled after a few minutes, “What’s it about? A devastatingly handsome bard and his quick-witted companion, who saves from a terrible fate and they celebrate with a thorough and vigorous fuck?” 

Valdo’s quill scratched across the page, splattering ink all over the words. 

“No,” he spluttered, feeling his face flushing, "the romantic hero risks life and limb climbing up the trellis, torn apart by thorns, hurt by his own love, focused only on the light spilling through the window, and he tumbles into the room to see… to see…" Valdo faltered. "What does he see? Is it love or heartbreak? Fulfilment or disappointment?" 

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “I find fulfilment is usually a lot more fun.” 

“Fun, sure, but might a tragic ending be more likely to win?” 

Jaskier snorted at him. “If I knew that, I _certainly_ wouldn’t tell you.” He leaned back against Valdo’s pillows. “Or maybe I’d tell you the _wrong_ answer. Or maybe even I’d tell you the _right_ answer, knowing you wouldn’t believe me…” 

Valdo placed the quill down. Writing was difficult enough, but with Jaskier staring at him like that it was nearly impossible. He couldn’t get his quip out of his mind - _a thorough and vigorous fuck_. He wasn’t sure if Jaskier was joking or sincere. Knowing him, it could be both. Perhaps he could find out. 

Valdo’s notes were sparse, but suitable - he could get the rest down later. He rose, and walked back towards the bed, aware of Jaskier’s gaze following him. 

“Ah… sorry,” he said, feeling awkward, “about that.” 

“About what?” 

“Rushing off to write that down… rather ruined the moment.” 

Jaskier waved an impatient hand at him. “We’ve all done it.” 

“...Have we?” 

“Of course! There was this time when I was in Novigrad, and…” He stopped himself, blushing. “Ah, I shouldn't…” 

Valdo was intrigued. “Go on, what were you doing?” 

“I was with this woman… very lovely, _enormous_ tits. And I had this sudden incredible idea, it was like _lightning_ , you know how it is.” Valdo nodded, “Anyway,” Jaskier continued, “It came to me, and I _had_ to write it down, or I knew I’d completely forget it and regret it forever. So there I was, my head _sandwiched_ between her tits,” he raised his hands to demonstrate, “and I just lept off of her and ran, _naked,_ to my bag to get my notebook and write it down.” 

“I assume she wasn’t impressed?” 

“She was _not_ impressed. She threw the notebook out of the window.” 

Valdo burst out laughing. “What did you do?” 

“I went out after it, of course! It was a good idea!” 

“Oh, _gods_. You’re insane, did you know that?” 

“I’m an _artist_ , Valdo.” 

“And what about the idea? Was it any good?” 

Jaskier chewed on his bottom lip. “You know… I can’t even remember it.” 

“No!” 

“Yes!” Jaskier laughed, running a hand through his hair, then sighed. “Cracking pair of tits, though.” 

Valdo laughed along, letting himself relax down onto the bed next to Jaskier. He turned to stare at him across the mattress, and a sudden, painful thought came to him. The laughter died in his throat. 

"Jaskier…" 

"Yes?" He giggled. 

"Earlier, you said that we'd not always gotten on…" 

The giggling stopped. "Yes?" 

"Is that truly how you see it?" 

Jaskier rolled onto his side to better look at him. "Is that not how it _is?_ We were close at first, but with all the competitiveness and sniping, you know…" 

Valdo didn't bother to stifle his laugh - a sound borne more of distress than mirth. "You thought it was _competitiveness_?" 

"You were always challenging me!" 

"I was always _flirting with you_ , you prick!" 

Jaskier blinked. "What? No you weren't." 

"I was! Do you not remember that poem I wrote, the one just after graduation?" 

"I remember it being enviously brilliant," said Jaskier, darkly, "and a clear challenge!" 

"Jaskier!" Valdo slumped onto the bed next to him, "it was full of… of blue eyes and confessions and fields of fucking buttercups!" 

Jaskier's confused frown slid from his face. His eyes grew wide. "Shit." 

"Yes, thank you, that's what _I've_ been saying for the past decade!" 

"You were flirting with me this whole time…" 

"Well maybe not this _whole_ ti—" 

"Does anyone else know?" 

"I wasn't exactly subtle about it, Jaskier." 

" _Shit_." 

"Is that all you've got to say on the matter? 'Shit'?" 

"I can't believe I didn't realise…" Jaskier breathed, eyes still wide. Valdo wasn't sure if his horrified expression was a reaction to Valdo's misplaced affections or his own years of ignorance. Jaskier had been enthusiastic enough when he'd kissed him: but that could have just been adrenaline, the thrill of nearly being caught. 

"And _I_ can't believe I spent so long feeling sour about being brutally rejected when you were just being too much of an idiot to realise you were even rejecting me in the first place,” he said with a sigh. 

Jaskier's expression softened, but his smile was sharp. "Oh, poor Valdo," he crooned, "How ever can I make it up to you?" He ran a slow hand up Valdo’s arm. Valdo’s skin tingled. 

_Oh._ Not misplaced. Jaskier took advantage of Valdo’s sudden silence. 

“Out of interest, Valdo...” he hummed, “are you in the habit of taking people to bed who you ‘don’t get on with’?” 

Valdo snorted. “Are _you?_ I was under the impression you hated me!” 

Jaskier considered this. “I’ve never _hated_ you. And, well… when a handsome man pins you beneath him, _and_ saves your life…” 

“Jaskier?” 

“Yes?” 

“You’re ridiculous.” Valdo smothered Jaskier’s response with another kiss, feeling his mouth twist into a smile against his lips. 

There was no caution, this time - no hesitating as he gripped Jaskier’s arms or opened his lips to allow Jaskier’s probing tongue in. Jaskier pushed himself up on his elbows, deepening the kiss and pressing their chests together, then gave just the gentlest tug on Valdo’s lower lip. Valdo couldn’t suppress the little groan that rumbled up from his chest, and Jaskier sighed beneath him, rocking his hips against Valdo's crotch. Valdo gasped, and Jaskier gave a low, smug chuckle and then - in a swift, unexpected movement - Jaskier gripped Valdo around his waist and span them both, slamming Valdo down into the mattress and straddling him, a knee either side of his hips. 

Breathless, Valdo barely had a moment to react before Jaskier moved away, planting kisses on his jaw, his ear, his neck. He took a sharp intake of breath as Jaskier’s teeth dug into the sensitive skin at the base of his neck, arching his back. His fingers gripped the sheets as Jaskier’s attentions drifted lower, his lips brushing over his nipple and down towards his navel. One of Jaskier’s hands shot up, grabbing Valdo’s, twining their fingers together. 

Gods, Valdo could feel himself getting hard, terribly aware of how close Jaskier was to his prick - and, more than that, terribly aware of how completely naked Jaskier still was, his arousal beyond doubt as his own erection knocked against Valdo’s thigh. 

Jaskier had noticed too, and he treated Valdo to another of those luscious, self-satisfied laughs before planting a firm, final kiss on the bulge in Valdo’s trousers, his lips moving across the straining fabric. Valdo moaned, his eyes squeezing shut, anticipating what was to come, when the pressure lifted and suddenly he was being kissed once more, soft lips dancing with his own. 

His eyes snapped open to see Jaskier breaking the kiss with a sigh, his eyes dark, their noses knocking together. 

"So," Jaskier murmured, his lips brushing against Valdo's, "have you decided how your song's going to end? Shall it be disappointment…” he glanced down, “...or fulfilment?” 

And suddenly Jaskier’s hand was cupping Valdo’s cock, fondling him through his woollen breeches. 

“Fulfilment,” gasped Valdo, “ _definitely_ fulfilment.” 

Jaskier purred, hungrily. “ _Marvellous._ ” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Ahh, I love writing about Valdo... although knowing that there's an inevitable, terrible break-up makes it a little bittersweet. Come chat to me on tumblr at [a-kind-of-merry-war](https://a-kind-of-merry-war.tumblr.com/)! <3


End file.
